The Daughter
by The 6ths
Summary: 16 years after the end of the Last Olympian, Annabeth is kidnapped by an old enemy. Percy, along with Annabeth's previously unknown daughter Alice and a slew of old friends set off on a brave quest to save her. Contains major Percabeth. Chapter 1 is up!


A/n: I've already written this story. Well actually... This is my second attempt really, or you could say (or maybe just I could say) is my expression of how far I have come. 'Alice and the Great Adventure' (the original story, on another account: Tak the Wonder) was my first _ever_ fanfiction. It was devised in a series of weeks with the assistance of one my best friends. Though, as is common for a first story- it wasn't that great. But it was well written for a first story, and really shows me what kind of love I actually have for writing. It was the start of the fire that now burns inside of me to write, and though it isn't going to win a Pulitzer anytime soon- I'm proud to say it was my first. Since writing that story I have had several accounts, written probably a total of 20 stories throughout the community of fan-fiction. I'm giving the plot line a second chance, in honor of my friend; who asked me to re-write it. I'm excited to see how this works out. Hopefully it'll do well, and even if it doesn't I'll be fine with how it turns out, no matter the popularity of the story. It just means allot to me if you do actually like: review it or fave it or send me some love from above.

As it would any writer would. ;)

- Lovely-ology, aka. Katie.

The Daughter

Chapter 1: _A_ _Prologue_

The world around me a few minutes ago was still.

That statement is now a major contradiction.

Leaving what you could call serenity behind me, and throwing all that I know about survival to the wind- I run. Running is _actually_ a survival technique, but really in this situation, technique isn't EXACTLY something I'm worrying about right now. Let's just say seeing my mother pull a sword out of nowhere and fighting something I'd only seen in Greek mythology textbooks has affected my perception, of basically well- everything.

First thing that pushed me off the pedestal of information I thought was my life was, well: my _dad_. I never really knew him at all. Mom rarely talked about him, and if she did it was in little whispers with my Aunt Thalia or something. I was never a part of the conversation, only when I spied snippets from afar. I just guessed he died, or left my mom when I was little. Nothing really enticed me to know about him other than the fact that half my DNA came from this mysterious stranger, and I didn't know him.

He wasn't part of my life, and I didn't really care, well until yesterday- when suddenly my mom talked about him. After that day rapidly changed my perception of what I thought was my life up to this point. It all just spiraled.

And that's how I got to that major contradiction I mentioned earlier. _Yeah_- the running.

My feet hit the ground as a frantic beat which tosses the sandy path I'm running on, leaving a bothersome symphony of terror behind me. Sand flies past me, streaming and spraying as I struggle to get through the dunes of Montauk. I practically slip onto my face kicking through the sand, which is polluted by icky seaweed; it wraps around my toes. The seaweed gets desperately kicked away as I follow the path. The tide rolls in, wet and cool and I embrace the water as it wraps around my feet and seems to follow me as I trudge... The summer night's cool wraps around me coupled with the sea breeze; I breathe it in loud bursts, taking it all in as if it were precious. Each breathe is a gift; just knowing I'm alive is a real treasure at this point.

Weakness isn't an option. I have only one command to follow:

"Alice- just run... run as fast as you can down the beach until you just can't run anymore, and then run some more. Just go-"

And with that command, the woman who raised me practically by herself was gone, she faded from my vision; completely invisible. Sword in hand, with a strange determination I'd never seen cross her face, my mother had fought. Now she was gone. I was completely determined to follow her last request... even if it killed me. That's why I'm running. And I will continue to run until my legs fall off, if that's even possible.

It all really started with this camping trip. Mom wanted to go to some run-down cabin on the beach, said it was _historic_ for her or something.

_-Three Days Earlier-_

"Mom- what's so _great_ about this place?"

She gave me a look. Her don't-even-try-it-Alice glare never fails to strike fear throughout my body.

Sure, it wasn't the swankiest place I'd ever been, but she seemed to _really_ want to come here. For some odd reason she didn't want to explain. So we drove, and we drove, we drove... away from our apartment; which felt like a world away as we made our way down the highway. Into the middle of nowhere, with nothing but ocean, sand, a shack and some disheartening seaweed as a view we unpacked. The cabin seemed lonely; like it had once been a hearty little abode but had been abandoned for some time. It had certain charm to it; Mom said though maybe I thought she might have been talking about the mold and musky smell that seemed to reek from the very walls. Chipped paint and some spiders that made my mom and I jump about a mile out of our shoes became my very existence for the next few days.

The prospect of an actual vacation was something new to me since it seemed that in the past my mom's idea of a 'vacation' wasn't all that great. It had been turning off her laptop for a few hours and spending the night on our balcony in sleeping bags until the noise from below caused us to recede from the 'adventure' back to our beds. And that was fine, but a few weeks ago my mom decided to make an historic pilgrimage to Montauk. When I'd thought of Montauk, I'd imagined beautiful beaches, nice hotels, and well... not this. But if it made Mom happy I guess it was bearable. So I managed it.

At first it was nice, we talked sans her nose in a stack of architectural plans (her usual warrior stance), and we roosted some marshmallows. It might seem sad but, though she's my main caretaker in this world (hello she gave me life!) we haven't talked like that for awhile. It felt as if I saw a new version of my mother, one where she spoke to me in length and she asked me about my life and all was serene. And _then_ I asked her about the other half of my DNA.

"So- What was my dad like?" I asked, turning my coat hanger over in the flames to get a better sizzle on my marshmallow.

Annabeth Chase, architect, genius, and my mother was for the first time in my presence was at a loss for words. Her gray eyes froze despite the flickering like of our little campfire. She seemed to fumble with whatever thought she was trying to assemble in her mind... like it pained her to even think about him. I stopped for a moment, looking deeply into the fire's licking flames.

Fiddling with the soft folds of quilt she'd wrapped around her shoulders, and made an attempt at an answer.

"Brave,"

Five letters, one simple word. That's all I got for an answer.

"He was... _brave_. And a good man." She finished with her eyes fixed on the end of her coat hanger. She turned it methodically.

"Did you love him?"

"Alice- oh course I loved him." Her eyes flicked back up to me, her cheeks shadowed by the glistening light of the fire with expression almost ghostly. What's that supposed to mean? The 'of course' wasn't expected.

"Then-"

"-Look, Alice I don't expect you to understand. It just goes to show, we were _too_ young."

Well, I know that. Years ago I'd subtracted it all in my head. I'm sixteen. My mother's thirty-five, even though she tried to steal a few candles from her birthday cake to look younger, she is in fact thirty-five. So... 16-35= -19. Mathematically she wasn't _that_ young, I guess. She was nineteen when she had me, so I guess you could call that 'young'. Legally she could make her own decisions I guess. But you don't make a decision to fall in love, or do you?

"How- how did you meet him?" A cold shiver seems to run through her very being; I can see it in her eyes: a pair of icily moons that bore into my forehead. My mom adjusts her blanket before continuing, fending off the biting cool. "We were friends. When we met, we were just _kids_," She answers leaving her sentence purposely unfinished. She's holding something back, I can sense it. But what?

"I hated him at first and then-"

She yields for a moment: in reminiscence.

"-It turned out to be him. To be _him_ all along; this guy I just couldn't stop thinking about. I loved him and, and Percy, he just..." Her voice lilts at a slow speed, as if in song. By the end of the statement she chokes off, shutting her lids and closing her mouth as if to force words back. Percy? So that was his name. I'd heard it a bit before, but only in whisper. Now it was out there as public information and seemed like some kind of code name kept secret for too long. 'Percy'... I breathed silently. Though not a common name it seemed to fit my mysterious paternal influence.

"You remind me of him."

"I do?"

She raised a hand to my cheek and fiddled with my blond curls, pulling them from my face. My mother's gaze locked with my own, our eyes: moon-like gray battling my blue-green. She smoothed my hair with a gentle hand, and smiled.

"You've got _his_ eyes."

"Really?"

"So, blue. Yet so green... I used to spend hours looking into them." She said not just to me but to the sea and actual universe around us. She sighed, leaning back in her spot in the sand.

"Oh Percy..." She whispered into the breeze with a quiet sigh.

She wrapped an thoughtful arm around my shoulders.

A/n: So that's the first chapter... :) I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it... So tell me what you think, and if I should continue.


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